


I Don't Want to Walk Without You

by rolypolythepolarbear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco Learns to Garden, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolypolythepolarbear/pseuds/rolypolythepolarbear
Summary: When Draco got out of Azkaban, he wasn't sure who he was anymore. It takes Astoria Greengrass (much to Narcissa's dismay) to help him find himself again.





	

After the battle, the dementors thought they would be able to feast. All those Death Eaters, too dangerous to remain free, even after the death of their masters. They soon found their feast to be boring, dry. These depraved wretches all shared one worst memory- that of their defeat, of their dreams being crushed. There were other bad memories mixed in, too- the Dark Lord torturing them, other stints in Azkaban, even the memories of neglectful parents- but they were common memories in this lot. Tasteless. Boring. Amidst all the tofu the dementors found they had been served, there was one bright light, one scrumptious dish. The dementors loved patrolling the upper hall with the small, solitary cell in the corner. There they could taste regret. A tinge of remorse. What if’s, and dreams of how the past might have been changed. Loss. Loneliness. This prisoner didn’t think about what might have been done to make the Dark Lord succeed, but what might have been done to save his own family. What if in his sixth year he had trusted Snape, had rebelled against the Dark Lord? Conversely, what if he had been a dutiful servant and revealed the identity of the disfigured Harry Potter? Perhaps, then, his family might be at home, sleeping soundly in their own beds. Perhaps…but it was no matter now.  
Three years later, the dementors were annoyed to find out that their charge with the deliciously troubled memories would be released. It didn’t matter to them that he had been so young at the time of his crimes, or that he had been coerced into it by his parents, or even that he had never managed to kill anyone. All they recognized was that there would be no break from the rest of the prisoners, ever begging for the Dark Lord to save them from the depravity they found themselves in. The prisoner in question, however, wasn’t sure he even wanted to leave. His memories were used to torture him in prison, but what no one realized was that it was not the dementors, but he himself who held the tool of torment. His misery would continue outside of the safe prison walls, but he would have the added agony of facing the outside world, a world which (possibly rightly) hated him.   
The most confusing thing of all for him was that his basic beliefs hadn’t changed. He knew himself to be better than most of society, and he still didn’t understand why anyone would disagree. Even Muggles prized their purebred animals above the mutts they created. They would pay thousands of dollars for a pet that would only survive a few years, simply because its bloodline was pure. And the purer the sire, the more a creature was worth. Humans are but creatures with higher reasoning skills. Why would the same principle not apply? Yet so many in wizarding society believed Mudbloods to somehow be on the same level as everyone else. But while he knew this in his heart, he was also aware that he didn’t have it in him to endorse or perpetuate genocide. There were better ways of taking care of it. Perhaps they could be sent to Australia, historically Britain’s dumping place for undesirable constituents. Or they could just be ignored. If they were never taken into wizarding society, perhaps the Muggles would just come to accept these occasional oddities with their special gifts. If not, they could be locked up in Muggle institutions. But none of these things were ever going to happen, and this attempt at reform had been such a massive failure that he wasn’t sure anyone would ever take up the mantle again. It was too late, he thought. So many Mudbloods and halfbloods that within the next few generations, there would be no purebloods left. Nothing would remain that his family had worked so hard for.  
He realized he had been lucky, compared to most, as he looked up at Malfoy Manor. He was one of the few Death Eaters that wasn’t going to live out their lives in Azkaban. He was allowed to return home, a completely free man. Minister Kingsley had made it clear that he would be under a closer eye than some, but so long as he kept his nose clean, this was a chance for a fresh start. A fresh start. Draco snorted. Who was going to hire him? Forget being a member of a national terrorist group, he hadn’t even finished his education. What would he do with his life now? He had grown up socializing with other purebloods, living an easy life thanks to all his family money. How much of that was left? He wondered if the house-elf had been left to the family or if he was about to enter a completely empty, dusty house. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door  
If he had allowed himself hope, he would’ve hoped that the elf had been left, that the manor would be clean, and that he could take a nap in peace. He didn’t expect a figure to fly at him and tackle him in a hug.  
“Draco!” he heard a breathless, unmistakable voice say. Draco pulled back.  
“Mother?” he asked, a mixture of shock and joy. “But…I thought…how did you get out?”  
She smiled humorlessly. “I was given a shorter sentence due to the fact that, for one, I was never a Death Eater, and, more importantly, I saved the Chosen One’s life.”  
“I’m glad you’re here,” Draco said as he pulled his mother back into a hug. And as he did so, he began to cry. He had never cried in front of his mother before, at least not since he was a child. There had been many times that he wanted to, but he was afraid to seem weak, afraid to seem undedicated to the cause.  
“My poor baby,” Narcissa whispered, leading Draco over to a couch. “You’re safe now, I promise. It’s all over. You were never meant to be a soldier, but it’s all over now.”  
Draco looked up, his eyes still swimming. “But Mother, what are we to do? It’s not as if anyone will hire me. Can we even afford to maintain the manor? And how are we ever supposed to go out in society again? The entire country hates us!”  
Narcissa looked at him oddly. “You don’t need to get a job. We still have plenty of money.”  
“How did the Ministry pay to fix all the damage? I can’t even imagine how many Galleons were needed to take care of Hogwarts, and then there was damage to the Ministry itself, and they probably paid for damages done to any of our victims. They surely didn’t pay for all of that themselves?”  
“No, you’re right. They did make many of us pay heavy fines in addition to prison sentences. However, your dear aunt’s vault almost covered the costs alone. They saw no reason to leave her anything, seeing as she and her husband won’t be leaving Azkaban except in coffins. The rest of the money needed was made up by smaller contributions from each of us…and our family made the smallest contribution. Another benefit of having saved Potter. He spoke in our defense, you know. Not just about my actions, but how you didn’t identify him even though he knows you could’ve. The war would’ve been over right then and there if you had.”  
He turned away. Hadn’t he thought about that fact nearly every night for three years? He still wasn’t sure whether it would’ve been better that way. Life would have been easier in many ways, but there would still be the constant paranoia, the fear that if he displeased the Dark Lord, he would be given no mercy.  
Narcissa seemed to know his thoughts, and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll be all right, you know. Your father will be allowed out in twenty more years, and until then we have plenty of money and our freedom. And as for society hating you, you were the only one of your peers to actually join the Dark Lord. None of the others were imprisoned, but you know they secretly supported your efforts. They will hail you as a hero.”  
Draco gave her a small smile and then, excusing himself, went to bed.


End file.
